


Come Away O Human Child

by ginger_mosaic



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Apples, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Flowers, Forehead Kisses, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Morning Kisses, Sleepy Kisses, Slice of Life, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_mosaic/pseuds/ginger_mosaic
Summary: Crowley kidnaps a child, because that’s what fairies do, right?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 161





	Come Away O Human Child

Crowley feels a prickle on the back of his neck, but he doesn’t move from the flowerbed he’s tormenting. Whoever is watching him will just have to wait until these daffodils get what is coming to them, drooping all over the place like they are.

“I’ll replace you all with carrots if you don’t shape up,” he hisses at them. They tremble under his glare, but he ignores them in favor of sensing what sort of being is watching him. They don’t feel demonic, so he chances a glance over his shoulder, spritzing some flowers to the side with his spray bottle to cover the movement.

Oh. It’s a child.

Well, that’s all right then. He’s had children come into his garden all the time. Usually when he’s not looking and to steal fruit from his tree. [1]

This one is just standing at the fence, looking into the garden. Crowley ignores him for a bit longer, making his rounds as usual. If the plants get it into their heads that humans appearing can distract him, there will be no end to their attempts to attract humans. [2]

He finally makes it to the rose bushes he planted along the fence and prunes them until he is right in front of the boy. The boy stares up at him, and Crowley stares back down at him.

“Can I help you?” Crowley finally asks.

“My grandpa says you’re a fairy,” says the boy.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Does he?”

“Are you?”

Crowley hums.

“Are you going to kidnap me?” asks the boy.

Crowley snorts and kneels down to cut some disobedient leaves. “What do I need a child for?”

“My ma says fairies kidnap kids,” says the boy.

Crowley hums again. “Well,” he says, “could use some help in the garden, I suppose. I could kidnap you, if you wanted.”

The boy tilts his head to the side and considers this for a moment. “Okay,” he says at last.

Crowley walks down the line of roses and the little boy follows suit on the other side of the fence. Crowley opens the gate near the front of the house, and the boy steps over the threshold into the garden.

“Here,” says Crowley, handing him a spade and a bucket that is larger than the child’s head. “The _Taraxacum officinale_ are getting out of control. Just toss them in here.”

“What are T-rex-y-coon officials?” asks the boy.

“Dandelions.” He shows the boy where they are, what they look like, and how to pull them out, and then leaves him to it. Aziraphale can use the dandelions later in a salad or something. He’s always trying new recipes.

The boy works quietly for a while. Crowley continues his rounds, though by the time he got to the rose bushes, he was actually finished. Still, the plants could do with some more fear. He plucks leaves every so often just to keep the plants on their toes and to keep an eye on the boy.

The boy gets bored after a while and leaves the spade in the dirt next to the bucket and goes around smelling all the flowers.

When he gets to a bush with large green leaves, he turns to Crowley. “What’s this one?” he asks.

“ _Chimonanthus praecox_ ,” says Crowley, sauntering over. “Wintersweet.”

“Why doesn’t it have flowers?” he asks. “What’s wrong with it?”

Crowley shrugs. “Nothing. It blooms in winter. ‘S just resting now. Leaves could be doing better though,” he adds pointedly to the leaves, which shudder. “Besides, not all plants have flowers.”

“What’s this one?” the boy asks, moving on.

“ _Dianthus barbatus_ ,” says Crowley. “Sweet William.”

“What about this one?” he asks.

“ _Antirrhinum majus_. Snapdragon.”

“What about this one?”

“ _Fritillaria meleagris_. Chess flowers.”

They walk around the entire garden, and Crowley names all of the plants until they’ve reached the row of roses again. Crowley points out all the different types, and the boy smells them all.

“It’s getting late,” says Crowley once the sun has dipped and the shadows have begun to lengthen. “You ought to get home.”

The boy nods. “Okay.”

Crowley lets him out through the gate and the little boy starts down the road. He turns and waves at Crowley every few steps, and Crowley waves back until he goes over the ridge and is gone.

* * *

Aziraphale is fixing himself a cup of tea when he sees him through the kitchen window. A little boy, wandering around Crowley’s garden, smelling all of his flowers. Usually the children who sneak into the garden just steal some apples and flee (poor dears; if they’d only ask, Crowley would give them a bushel of the good ones from the trees in the back), but this one is just walking up and down the stone pathways.

Aziraphale thinks about waking Crowley, and then decides against it and goes outside himself. He stands on the back stoop with his tea, and the boy waves at him, so he waves back. After a few more minutes of meandering, the boy walks over to the back stoop.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” says Aziraphale.

“Why did you marry a fairy?” asks the boy.

Aziraphale is so taken aback that he nearly spills his tea. A _fairy?_ He married a _demon_ , thank you very much.

Then he remembers. Ah. Well. Where might this boy have heard that?

“Did he kidnap you, too?” asks the boy, before Aziraphale can answer.

“Kidnap? No.” Aziraphale frowns, puzzled. “Wait, what do you mean ‘too’?”

“He kidnapped me yesterday,” says the boy. “I helped with the danny lions.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Oh, that’s very kind of you. He’s asleep right now.”

The boy tilts his head to the side. “But it’s daytime,” he points out.

“Yes,” agrees Aziraphale, “the perfect time to curl up in a spot of sunshine. Would you like some tea?” he adds. “Or cocoa?”

The boy nods, so Aziraphale goes inside to fix up a mug of cocoa and find some biscuits. When he comes back out, the boy is wandering around the garden again. Aziraphale sits on the stoop, between the clematis-covered trellises and vegetable patches Crowley planted along the side of the cottage, and waits for him to come back around. The boy takes the mug and the plate of biscuits and sits next to him, eating in silence for a few minutes.

“What’s your name?” he asks after a while.

“Aziraphale,” says Aziraphale.

The boy nods once, thoughtfully. “I’m Henry.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Should you be giving fae your name?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” says the boy, with the calm wisdom only children possess. “You’re not a fairy.”

Aziraphale laughs. “All right then.”

When Henry finishes his cocoa, he sets the mug down on the stoop and puts his hands in his jumper pocket. He bites his lip and thinks for several long seconds, and Aziraphale waits for him to make a decision. Henry finally pulls his hands out, bringing with them a small white packet.

“This is for your husband,” says the boy.

“Oh!” Aziraphale takes the packet and examines it. “Carrot seeds?”

“He told the yellow ones he was going to replace them with carrots,” explains Henry.

Aziraphale can imagine Crowley did just that. “This is very kind of you, Henry. Thank you. I’ll give them to him.”

Henry stands up. “I better go. Thank you for the cocoa.”

What a polite young man. “You’re welcome.”

Henry takes off with a wave, opening the front gate himself and disappearing down the lane. Aziraphale sits on the stoop a little while longer, admiring Crowley’s work, before going back in to find his husband.

Crowley is still in bed, the covers pulled up over his head, all of the blankets a tangled nest in the corner of the bed to where he migrated with the warm rays of the sun. Aziraphale sits down and begins to peel back the covers, searching for his husband underneath all the blankets. He doesn’t mean to wake him, just wants to see his face, but the motion must rouse him, because Aziraphale hears a muffled grunt.

“Hello, dear,” says Aziraphale softly. “Just wanted to see you.”

Crowley slithers in the blankets until his head emerges. He blinks sleepily up at Aziraphale. “Hi, angel,” he says.

Aziraphale smiles and brushes Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Hi.”

Crowley grunts and shifts around, kicking at the blankets to untangle them. “Get in here.”

Aziraphale obliges, wiggling into the warmth Crowley has cultivated underneath the covers. Crowley slides into his space and tangles their legs together while Aziraphale tugs him close with one arm and runs a hand through his hair with the other. He tips Crowley’s head back gently, and Crowley meets him in a sleepy kiss. Crowley hums into it and sighs when Aziraphale pulls back.

“Henry came by,” says Aziraphale, stroking his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Who?” mumbles Crowley, brushing their noses together.

“Your new friend. The boy. He says you kidnapped him.”

“Oh, him,” says Crowley. He sighs heavily, contentedly, in Aziraphale’s arms. “Terrible servant. Ripped up all my dandelions. Had to let him go.”

Aziraphale smiles. He saw the dandelions in the greenhouse the night before, all cleaned up and out to dry. He thought perhaps he might try making a soup with them. “He brought you these,” he says, reaching into his pocket to pull out the packet of carrot seeds. “He said you wanted to replace the daffodils with them. You haven’t been threatening them again, have you?”

Crowley grumbles something incoherent.

“What was that, dear?”

“I’ll get him to help me plant them near the other vegetables,” mumbles Crowley.

“That would be nice.”

“Might make the other carrots jealous. Make them work harder.”

Aziraphale kisses the tip of his nose.

Crowley sighs. “How do they find me, angel?” he moans.

Aziraphale chuckles. “You’re the one who set up a garden by the road.”

“That’s where the best sun is!”

Aziraphale laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead, then his nose again, and each cheek. “I love you, my dear,” he tells him.

Crowley groans and hides his face in Aziraphale’s chest, but Aziraphale still catches the pleased smile before he hides it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says.

* * *

[1] Joke’s on them, the apple tree near the road is Red Delicious, and everyone knows that’s the worst apple. The good stuff is in the back—Gala and Honeycrisp—or in the greenhouse—persimmons and pomegranates.[return to text]

[2] Joke’s on Crowley, humans love plants no matter what and they aren’t going to leave him alone regardless.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a typo somewhere in here, but now I can't find it. Please let me know if you find any! Also any feedback re: gardening is appreciated.


End file.
